Appearances and a Healer's Eye
by I'maMePanda
Summary: In the aftermath of Working Girls, some questions Nathan has had brewing in his head about Ezra come to the forefront. Younger Ezra.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: So this is another gem I found in my files and read while I probably should have been studying instead. It was better than I remembered, rough in spots but I really like my take on Nathan in this one, and with the first part done and an idea for an ending brewing now, I thought I'd share it. It's my first attempt at a younger but not little Ezra fic, and unlike in Troublemakers he's the only one younger. Hope you enjoy it!

This is set during working girls, and some dialogue has been pulled from the episode.

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Nathan stormed down the street, almost unable to think he was seething so badly. He wouldn't have wanted to believe what he'd been told, but JD didn't have a dishonest bone in his body. Nathan had known Ezra was a lot of things, but even he hadn't dreamed the conman would pull something like this. He slowed as he came up the church steps, not wanting to disrespect Josiah by bursting into his sanctuary. Nathan stopped just inside the doorway, watching, growing more disgusted with every word he heard. What was Josiah thinking, letting this happen in his church? If anyone could have put a stop to it, it would have been him, Nathan had noticed the only people the southerner even pretended to listen to were Josiah and Chris. Instead, he stood there offering platitudes about beauty and natural states. Finally, he couldn't take it anymore, the words almost ripping from his throat as he stomped up the aisle.

"Dignity?! You know... It take a bold man to talk about dignity when he tryin' to sell women off like they're cattle." Nathan was almost vibrating with the force of his angry words.

Ezra's face shuttered, eyes going flat and blank, as he faced the healer, "Ah'll ignore that."

"You better do that. How else you going to get some sleep tonight?"

Ezra shifted a little with the healer's words, but otherwise didn't react. "Anything else?"

Nathan almost gaped at what seemed to be a clear dismissal, "About making profit off the back of another human being!? Hell, yeah, I got a lot to say! But..." He shook his head, "it would just be wasted on you."

Ezra's face flashed his hurt for just a second as Nathan snarled out his last words, turning his back on him and storming down the church aisle, before smoothing out into its usual poker face.

He turned back to the ladies, fully intending to get started again, but to his own surprise instead what came out of his mouth was, "Ah believe Charm school is ovah, ladies. If yah'll will please excuse me…" Ezra flashed his most conciliatory smile at them, making sure his movements were nothing but smooth and sure as he headed to the back door. His mouth had already betrayed him; he was not about to let his body do so too.

"For the day?" Miss Emily, the blonde one who honestly wasn't more than a girl, about JD's age, called after him.

"At least." Ezra felt the smile falter on his face, and turned to hurry out the back door, not stopping until he had made it to the back of the saloon, where, when he was certain no one was around, he let himself lean against the back of the building and take a deep breath, Mr. Jackson's words ringing in his ears.

*.*.*.*.*

Nathan had stopped in his tracks when he heard Ezra say his "charm school" was over, still furious, but unable to avoid turning back. Was he serious, or was it a trick?

Seeing Ezra almost rush out the back door, Nathan's eyebrows drew together, a flicker of concern hastily stomped down. If Ezra felt guilty, he'd more than earned it.

"Perhaps your words weren't wasted after all." Josiah turned from the wall to raise an eyebrow at his old friend, who seemed to be thinking hard, and finally nodded half-grudgingly. Josiah turned back to his work, moving the scraper up and down steadily, "I reckon that boy has more layers over him than this church ever had of paint. Just like the little glimpses of grain starting to show here, every once in a while we get a peak beneath those layers. Most of the time, though, we just see the paint."

"Dammit Josiah, I got every right to be pissed." Nathan snapped it, but much of his anger had deflated, leaving him suddenly weary.

Josiah gave him a knowing look, "Mighty disappointed too."

Nathan nodded again, this time running a hand over his face. Yeah, yeah, he was. He'd thought after seeing Ezra in the Seminole village, happily interacting with all the children, whether they were colored, Indian, mixed, it clearly hadn't mattered, that he'd been mistaken about the man. Even after the garbage he'd said in the saloon, Nathan had given him another chance, and this had felt all too much like a betrayal. His actions today might not have showed a lack of respect for colored people in particular, but they had shown a lack of respect for _all_ people, for the dignity of human life, and Nathan was honestly disgusted by it. Buck walked up then, looking a bit sheepish, "Nathan, I didn't-"

"Save it, Buck, I know you heard you gotta talk to the ladies and didn't think twice." Nathan shook his head, "I'm goin' for a walk."

*.*.*.*.*.*

'selling women off like cattle'…'How else you going to get some sleep tonight?'

Ezra pressed his eyes tightly closed, hoping no one came out to use the necessary in back of the saloon anytime soon. Is that what it looked like he was doing? Ezra had honestly been trying to provide aid, to increase the ladies standing in life. Marriage was protection for a woman, as long as it wasn't a bad marriage. He may have been exaggerating a diminutive amount when he talked about placing them in the finest homes in the land, but unsuitable candidates would be turned away posthaste. Furthermore, it was not as though the final choice would not be left up to the ladies, no one would be marrying anyone they did not want to.

If he made a little money, or perhaps a bit more than a little money, doing so, well, a gentleman required compensation for his efforts, did he not?

Yet, the look on Nathan's face…the man had been infuriated, certainly, far more than Ezra had ever seen him. But also...pained. There was no doubt his actions had hurt the man he'd come to respect, even if he wasn't quite sure you could call them…friends wasn't the right word, Ezra P. Standish did not have friends…comrades, perhaps. He'd hoped, after Mr. Jackson had seemed to have forgiven his initial poor behavior after the battle at the Indian village, but obviously, that wasn't to be, not after this. That Mr. Jackson's words had hurt him as well was not of consequence, not now when Ezra was doubting his own actions.

Ezra wished he could say it did not matter to him, but while he was very skilled at lying to others, lying to himself was not a skill he had ever mastered, nor wanted to. It was dangerous to con others when you were not aware of reality yourself. The simple fact of the matter was that it did. Mr. Jackson's, and the other five men he had somehow fallen into company with, opinions mattered to him a great deal.

Things had been much easier when the only opinions that mattered to him were his own and Chaucer's.

Perhaps Ezra would go and drink until no one's opinion of him, including his own, which was not very high at the moment, mattered. That sounded like the best option. Pushing himself off the wall, he straightened his clothes and headed through the backdoor of the saloon, planning to find oblivion in a bottle.

Unfortunately, what Ezra Standish wanted apparently mattered very little to the universe at large. Almost as soon as he had entered into the saloon proper, a rather mischievously grinning Vin and a Mr. Larabee who thankfully was not, as that would have been disturbing, waylaid him.

They had shocking news about Mrs. Travis, and the most interesting plan to distract Wickes. He'd expected to pay for it later when Vin and Chris had strolled by at the beginning of his ill fated charm school, stopping to laugh at him demonstrating graceful walking, but he had not expected it to come to all this.

Ezra reminded himself very firmly, as he strolled into the tent city's bar, that he did, for what godforsaken reason he had no idea, care what his comrades thought of him. If this could help rescue Mrs. Travis, who had been nothing but kind, from that vile Wickes character the humiliation would be worth it. Also, his pardon depended on this peacekeeping business. It was not, admittedly, the first-time Ezra had dressed in drag. It was, however, the only time he had done so as part of a scheme that would not potentially make him very rich.

*.*.*.*.*.*

Nathan walked into the saloon, worn out from an evening spent trying to deal with two patients in shock. Miss Lydia had killed a man and probably needed Josiah's brand of medicine more than his, but being near Nora had seemed to calm her. Mrs. Travis was settled in at her rooms in the back of the Clarion, with Mrs. Potter checking on her. He ordered a drink and as he sipped it rubbed wearily at his eyes. One entertaining thing had come from today, and that was seeing poor Ezra dolled up in that dress. He would never live it down, at least that was Buck's intention. Nathan sighed and rubbed at his eyes again as he compared what Ezra had done in the morning to what Ezra had done in the afternoon. He just didn't understand the man! Spent his morning devising ways to marry women off for money, and spent his afternoon in a dress to help protect a woman! Nathan liked it when he could look at a man's actions and see his character clearly. Ezra confused the absolute hell out of him.

That Nathan's disapproval over that disgrace with the ladies had actually caused him to stop his scheme…if it wasn't some kind of trick...he didn't even know what to think. He had a hard time imagining his opinion was that important to Ezra, to a son of the south, but it seemed it was. That damn gambler reminded him of a child at times, like he didn't know right or wrong without someone explaining it. Nathan took a deep sip of his drink. Like a child-that brought up another thought that had been playing in his mind since four weeks ago at the start of their trip to the Seminole Village….

How old was Ezra? There were times when he seemed worldly wise, he was a conman through and through and could handle himself, there was no doubt about that. Other times though, Ezra hardly seemed older than Vin. Younger, maybe.

Sensing someone hovering, Nathan looked to the side and noticed Miss Molly hesitating near him. Hoping nothing was ailing her-if she'd caught something from her, uh, company, Buck would get it and then half the town would be sick-Nathan turned and smiled, "Evenin', Miss Molly."

"Evening, Mr. Jackson." She smiled back, looking a bit nervous, "I remembered that you told me that if I saw Mr. Larabee with a second bottle of redeye," Nathan groaned internally, "to let you know, but I figured Ez-Mr. Standish being close to finishing a first, with a second on order, might be something you'd want to know too." Nathan automatically looked at the seven's table, then at the one near it where Ezra played his games, mouth furrowing into a hard line. Ezra drank as often as the rest of them, but generally quality over quantity, and for all he was solid, he was built small, didn't have the size or tolerance of Chris or Josiah.

"Where is he?"

"In the far corner, over around the side of the bar." Where none of the others would see him trying to kill himself when they walked in. If this was over his pride being hurt from wearing that stupid dress _Nathan_ was going to kill him. It must have been humiliating, he won't deny that, but Ezra shouldn't be drinking himself half to death over doing a good thing for once. He slammed his own drink, nodding thanks to Molly as he pushed back from the bar and headed that way. Ezra had tucked himself into the corner with his back to the wall, but since he wasn't paying any attention to his surroundings Nathan wasn't sure what good that was doing. He marched over to the table, becoming more annoyed when Ezra didn't notice that someone was walking up. It wasn't until he'd kicked out the chair across from the man that he even looked up, though that did give Nathan a good opportunity to reach over and swipe the bottle of whiskey that was clasped loosely in his hand, the liquid only an inch or two from the bottom. Since when did Ezra drink straight from the bottle? He was sitting in his shirt sleeves too, something Nathan had never expected to see, his jacket discarded on the chair next to him, and his vest unbuttoned.

"Mistah Jackson?" Sinking down into the chair he'd moved, Nathan stared hard at Ezra who seemed to shrink back a little.

"What the hell does your sorry ass think you're doing?"

"Enjoying a libation." His words came out slurred, and if he hadn't been so pissed Nathan might have found it amusing that the ten dollar words stuck around when the man was smashed off his ass.

"Yeah, well, you're done for the night, ya dang fool. Be lucky as hell if you ain't sick as a dog come mornin'."

"That is often…the consequence for indulging on an empty stomach. Worth it." A flicker of his usual grin showed on Ezra's face at the change in his companion's expression at those words. Needling Mr. Jackson was always entertaining. The smile fell off Ezra's face as his mind went back to that afternoon. Truly angering the man was a different story altogether.

"You _tryin'_ to provoke me?" Nathan glared, before worry and common sense took over, "I'm gonna order you something to eat, ya idiot. You ain't gonna move 'til I get back, ya hear?" Ezra wondered how Mr. Jackson would take the news that doing so might be quite impossible for him at the moment anyway, but wisely only nodded, not even letting out the sarcastic 'Yessah!' that wanted to escape him. Nathan stood up, went to head to the bar proper, then turned around to snatch the bottle of whiskey away from where Ezra's hand was reaching for it. With another glare, muttering about dang stubborn idiots who needed their fool hides tanned before they killed themselves-a refrain that was becoming more common the better he got to know the rest of the seven-Nathan quickly flagged down one of bar girls and asked for one of whatever was good.

As he took his seat again Nathan leaned over to snatch the second bottle of whiskey that had been delivered while he was gone and that Ezra thankfully hadn't been able to open (though he had managed to get his vest the rest of the way off, setting it on the seat next to him. Nathan really hoped he wasn't going to continue with that.) ignoring Ezra's complaints. Nathan considered the other man, and wondered whether he wanted to bother asking him why he'd been trying to drink his liver away, now that he'd stopped him. Wasn't really his problem…but, if that were true he wouldn't be sitting here, would he? Ezra's head lolled slightly to the side, and Nathan had to fight the urge to reach across the saloon table and smack the fool for drinking so much on an empty stomach. If he hadn't come along when he did the boy would likely have poisoned himself!

The boy. Nathan frowned down at the table. That thought kept coming back to him. He had noticed when they were with the Seminoles that after five days without shaving Ezra hardly had more than peach fuzz. That for all he would never show it he seemed to hero worship Chris as much as JD. Ezra acted-most of the time-as though he were close to Nathan's age and dressed in all them fancy clothes he looked it. Every once in a while though, he said or did something that just screamed the word into Nathan's mind. No one else had seemed to notice, to pick up on the signs Nathan saw clearly. He couldn't rightly recall if Ezra had ever actually given an age, or just let them assume, and as he trained his gaze back on his fellow peacekeeper looked intently at a face that seemed very youthful. Without all that fancy get-up, without that constant guard on his expression, he looked younger even than Nathan had been thinking, closer in age to JD than to Vin. "Mistah Jackson?"

"Yep?" Ezra flinched a little at the hard tone and Nathan might have felt bad if he hadn't just found him trying to give Chris a run for his money.

"If Ah had not been planning to turn a profit would mah actions still have troubled yah so?" Nathan went to snap at him, but snapped his mouth shut instead at the expression on Ezra's face, studying him intently. Ezra was in earnest, and more than that his eyes had an uncertainty, a pleading in them, that the healer in him couldn't help but respond too.

"You really don't understand, do you? If you hadn't been," He swallowed here, pushing back a surge of both nausea and temper with a force of will, "turnin' a profit, nah, I wouldn't have been as upset, but that wouldn't have made it right, Ezra. You were talkin' about sellin' women-handin' them out like they free parcels seem much better to you?"

"But, Ah wasn't…marriage is protection…Mothah always…" His voice wavered with doubt and Nathan cut him off, forcefully, not about to stop when it seemed like he might have a chance at actually getting through to him.

"People ain't things, to be bought or sold or given away! No so-called protection worth bein' property. I'd thank you to take _my_ word on that." He'd caught Ezra's eyes with his own while he was talking, and was glad he had. Ezra's face looked shocked, but it was only in his eyes that Nathan saw the horror, the proof to him that the other man was starting to understand.

"Mah intentions were not…Ah didn't…", Ezra trailed off, but didn't look away, and finally, finally nodded. Nathan looked into those eyes, eyes that for some reason seemed to be willing to take his yes or no as law after only about a month of knowing each other, when they didn't even get along half the time, and had only one question in his own mind.

"Ezra, how old are you?"

Ezra blinked at him, a flash of panic showing, before he attempted to put his usual poker face up, but it wasn't fooling Nathan. "Ah must confess, Ah do not perceive what that has to-"

"Ezra."

"What age do yah perceive me to be?"

Nathan glared, "Ezra, quit foolin' around and tell me."

"Ah am 38." He said it without a twitch, and if it hadn't been so baldly ridiculous it would have been a very good performance. Nathan had been pretty sure before, but now he was certain, Ezra wasn't anywhere near as old as he'd been implying.

"Want to try again? Somewhere in the realm of possibility." Nathan leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. Ezra looked away from him over at the bartender and waved at the man, pointing at the mostly empty bottle of whiskey in request for another. The bartender, having seen that Nathan had both the remains of the first and the second bottle of whiskey that had been ordered sitting on the chair next to him, looked to the other man before bringing it over. He'd seen how fast the healer could throw a knife. Nathan shook his head without looking away from Ezra. "Ezra. Answer me."

"What's going on?" Josiah settled down on the side of Nathan that wasn't occupied with whiskey bottles.

"Other than Ezra tryin' to kill hisself by drinkin' nearly a whole bottle of whiskey on an empty stomach? Was tryin' to start on a second a moment ago."

Josiah looked at Ezra with both concern and disapproval, "Ezra…son…"

"Ah can hold mah liquor." He said it insistently, but couldn't seem to look Josiah in the eye. The rather pronounced slur didn't exactly help his case either.

"I ordered some food for 'im, it should soak up some of what's left in his stomach." Nathan turned back to Ezra, "You want to tell 'Siah what else we were talkin' about?"

Ezra looked down, "The ladies…Ah-"

"Not that. What we were just talking about."

"Ah…do not recall." Ezra looked genuinely puzzled, and he'd drunk enough Nathan was almost inclined to believe him. Almost. The barmaid brought over his tray then anyway, and Ezra poked at the stew rather dubiously even as he thanked her.

"You need to eat the bread, and at least some of the potatoes out of that stew." Ezra looked at Nathan as though he was crazy, and Nathan continued before he could get into too much of a fuss. "Don't be a damn fool, unless you wanna get sick as a dog you need to eat." Figuring Ezra was more likely to eat if Nathan wasn't staring at him he turned to Josiah, waiting 'til he could see Ezra at least picking at the bread out of the corner of his eye, before saying quietly, "How old would you say Ezra is Josiah?"

Josiah frowned, turning from observing Ezra to throw a questioning glance at Nathan. "I would have said Ezra was close in age to you, 28 or 29, perhaps a bit younger, Brother Nathan, but your question makes me wonder."

"Been noticin' for a while some little things that made me wonder if he wasn't younger than he's puttin' on. He looks awfully young without that fancy jacket and vest on, his hair mussed up, doesn't he?" Josiah looked at Ezra and after a minute had to nod, brows drawing together. "Asked him how old he was-told me 38." Josiah outright laughed at this, and Nathan nodded. "Not one of his better lies."

"He damn sure ain't only 12 years younger than me."

"Ah can hear yah gentlemen, yah know…it is not mah fault 'Siah is ancient…" Josiah shook his head, amused by Ezra being just as much of a smart aleck whether he was sober or blind drunk, though he didn't particularly like being called ancient, not when he was starting to feel it some days. Nathan just rolled his eyes.

"Eat your damn stew."

"Wait a second, Nathan. Ezra? Son, I want to talk to you."

"Ah have been ordered to ingest mah 'damn stew', and therefore am unable to do so." Ezra smirked, though the expression was ruined in that his eyes couldn't quite seem to focus on Josiah.

"Brother Ezra." Josiah growled just a bit, pulling out the stern look he'd noticed the boy-Lord, Nathan was right, wasn't he?-responded too, whether he'd admit it or not. "Look at me." Reluctantly, Ezra put down the spoon he'd been poking at his stew with.

"Yes, Mr. Sanchez?"

"How old are you?"

Ezra stifled a groan; his intoxication making him want to do what he'd never want to do ordinarily, bang his head on the table no matter how undignified it was. He'd known that was what Josiah was going to ask him, just held out hope. Why had they noticed now? What measure had he failed in, what had given Mr. Jackson cause to notice? It had been years since someone had seen through this particular con. He'd been pretending to be at least five years older than he was since he was fourteen. "Ah assure yah sah, Ah am above the age of majority…"

"That ain't what I asked you." Josiah had never thought to doubt that, and didn't now-that Ezra could be under 21 and they hadn't realized, _he_ hadn't realized-no. He ignored the tightening in his belly.

"Mistah Sanchez…"

"Ezra."

He wasn't going to stop, he might drop it now if Ezra pushed, but just like with his church, if a job were left undone Josiah would be back to finish it. Ezra, who had spent most of his life studying human character had already learned that. And…why not? His mother's voice rang in his head, talking about the vulnerability he would be exposing himself to, how they would use it against him, but Ezra found he didn't want to listen to her. It had been so long since he'd had any companions besides her to listen to, and while he wasn't sure if he could trust all of them, Ezra found that he did trust, at least as much as he was able to, Josiah.

He just hoped he wasn't wrong. It would be far from the first time.

Truthfully, Ezra wanted to tell Josiah. Wanted him to know. Sober he never would have given in to the urge, but dammit what was wrong with having a colleague or two who knew his age? Perhaps he'd even tell them his birthday…he looked down at the table, not sure what he'd see when he said it. "Twenty-two. Next March." He forced himself to breath steadily, wishing he had his cards in his hands. Taking them from his pocket now would make it obvious that he was doing so as a nervous habit, and that was unacceptable.

"Damn, that's a sight younger than I thought," came from Nathan, more of a mutter to himself than anything else, but Ezra heard it and hunched in a bit as a new thought occurred to him. He had now revealed himself to only be about three years older than Mr. Dunne, and unlike Mr. Dunne he was neither the sheriff, nor did he have a self-proclaimed adopted brother such as the formidable Mr. Wilmington to vouch for him. What if they decided his age made him too much of a liability? Ezra had been planning to leave in a week when the thirty days were up, but he suddenly realized he didn't want to. That it would hurt if he was forced to and _what the hell had he done._

Josiah was more shocked than Nathan, who at least had had more than a few minutes to get used to the idea of Ezra being younger than they'd thought, barely holding back his blurt of, "It's May!" as he let his thoughts collect. Ezra was 21-yes, above the age of majority, but only by a few months. Josiah felt that earlier knot of guilt reform. He knew Ezra was a con artist, and a good one-he hadn't bothered to try and hide or downplay it, seeming, in retrospect, to be almost relieved that they already knew, and had shared several stories that were as funny as they were concerning, more concerning then ever with this new revelation. This was one con Josiah thought he should have been able to see through. As much as Chris was the unquestioned leader, Josiah was the oldest of their merry band and had started to feel a connection that was almost like family with each of them. While that connection was akin to the one between brothers for Chris, Buck and Nathan, if a baby brother for Nathan, it was more paternal towards the youngest three, Ezra in particular. Josiah had thought within only a day or two of meeting the young southerner that the young man seemed to need his guidance and now he knew it was true. Shaking himself out of his thoughts he looked at the young man who was still staring at the table, posture slightly defensive, as though expecting an attack. "Ezra, it's alright." When Ezra continued to say nothing, Josiah slid his chair over, resting a hand on his shoulder. "It really is."

"Josiah?" Ezra looked up slightly, face pale, "Ah fear Ah am going-" Ezra swallowed hard and went to put a hand to his mouth; Josiah had been there enough times to realize what was happening and slid the arm closest to Ezra around the smaller man's waist, using the other to grab Ezra's arm and pull it over his shoulders, hauling him to his feet and heading towards the backdoor in a hurry. They made it to the porch railing just in time, Josiah holding Ezra by the shoulder to keep him from tipping over it, his other hand rubbing slow circles on the boy's back, fighting down a sympathetic chuckle-he doubted Ezra would appreciate it. Finally, he seemed to be done for the moment, and let out a long, low groan. Josiah couldn't help but let out the chuckle then.

"Better out then in."

"Ah do believe yah are enjoying mah suffering, Mr. Sanchez." Ezra sounded both miserable and accusing and Josiah patted the still shaking back in front of him and then pulled the young man to his feet, easily turning him so he could look at him.

"That depends, do you think getting sick like that might keep you from drinking yourself half to death in the future?" His face had adopted the stern look he'd had in the saloon earlier. "Because if it does than I think I might enjoy that fact quite a bit."

Blinking dizzily at him, hair mussed every which way, and, Josiah grimaced, a splash of throw up on his collar, Ezra still had his pride, "Ah have to say yah are exaggerating, Ah did not-"

" _Ezra._ "

Ezra opened his mouth to continue, had another wave of sickness hit him, and turned hurriedly to the railing again, Josiah grabbing him before he could pitch himself over into his own muck. "Alright…there we go...you're doing just fine." This bout of sickness lasted much longer, and Josiah cringed, knowing intimately how those sort of stomach spasms felt.

"Ah give…yah are correct…this certainly feels like death…" Josiah patted him on the shoulder.

"Think you're done?"

"If being done means Ah can go lay down in mah bed…" Ezra was all but sagging in his grip now and Josiah slowly pulled him up, not wanting to set off another round of puking, when Nathan stepped up besides them. He hadn't even realized the healer had joined them.

"Sorry, but nope. Ain't gonna risk you getting sick in your sleep and chokin'." Nathan's voice was firm and his face set, already anticipating a fight. "You're sleepin' in the clinic tonight, and I don't wanna hear a word about it." Ezra, glaring at him as best he could, didn't disappoint him.

"Mr. Jackson, Ah assure yah-"

"That you're gonna do what I say unless you want me to go tell Chris? He came in the saloon right as Josiah was haulin' your sorry ass out here." The two stubborn men eyed each other, one standing tall with his arms crossed across his broad chest, the other barely able to stay on his feet even with Josiah propping him up, but each just as determined to win this battle. "Gonna be mighty hard to get you up those stairs, without him seeing you anyway. I ain't gonna lie when he asks. Are you, Josiah?"

"No, can't see that that seems to be the wisest course of action." Josiah did not think he'd sleep well himself if Ezra went to his own room, not now that Nathan had put that thought in his head. No wonder Buck spent the worst of Chris's nights sleeping by his bed.

"Ah am fine!" It came out as more of a whine than a proper protest, and Nathan looked away from Ezra, talking to Josiah.

"Think you can take him up to the clinic and help me get him settled?"

"Be happy too. C'mon, Ezra." It was more than easy for the large man to move Ezra so that he was all but carrying him, one arm around his waist, the other pulling his arm over Josiah's shoulders, just as when he'd helped him to the porch, even with the other man being less than cooperative.

"Mr. Sanchez…Ah am not a child!"

Josiah didn't seem to be paying the gambler's words any real mind now, and nodded as he started down the porch steps, teasing him gently with his own words, "'Course not…you're above the age of majority, after all."

Nathan shook his head ruefully from beside them, "By a whole two months."

Ezra groaned slightly from the movement, and then sagged slightly against Josiah, his body making the decision to give in for him. "Fine, Ah will concede to this unnecessary Mothah-henning, but Ah am not happy about it."

"Hell Ezra, don't gotta tell me." Nathan rolled his eyes at that, Ezra was by far the hardest of all to get to the clinic when he needed it.

"I'm not nearly as much of a mother-hen as Buck." Josiah rumbled, amusement clear in his voice. As the three disappeared around the corner, a figure all in black stepped out from the porch doorway, lighting a cheroot as he went. This was…interesting.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: So it's been a long time since I published the first part of this one. Confession, most of the chapter has probably been written for over a year, not counting edits and whatnot. I was trying really hard to finish it entirely, but that just didn't want to happen in this chapter. I think that those of you who loved the first chapter will love this as well, but just be aware that there is a third part still in the process of being written, and I make no promises on when it will be done. This is also one of the first fics I published that seemed to get some strong negative feelings, and I get it, I felt very bad for both Nathan and Ezra in this episode over this event, lots of strong feelings everywhere. This story is leading towards Nathan realizing that he was being somewhat close minded, not just overly harsh, but it isn't quite there yet, so be patient with him for just a bit longer.

But basically, here's a new chapter! Hope you guys like it! And thank you to MamaBear for betaing and encouraging and occasionally nagging (j/k) me to give her more of this to read ;)

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Nathan thrust the glass of water under Ezra's nose for the second time, not about to be ignored. "Drink this." With a petulant glare Ezra took the glass, sighing dramatically before he took a sip-a single sip-and tried to pass it back to Nathan, who refused to take it. "All of it. I know you know what I meant, Ezra." Gentling his tone a little, he told him, "It'll make you feel better come mornin'."

"And in the meantime it'll have me going to the necessary every hour." The disgusted look he gave Nathan as he muttered this made the big man shake his head, as amused as he was exasperated, despite himself.

"'Cause all that whiskey you drank wouldn't have the same effect. Ya don't need to be goin' down the stairs anyway, there's a pot under the cot." The pure horror that appeared on Ezra's face at that had him hiding a smile, not surprised that it hadn't been taken well.

"Mistah Jackson, as long as Ah can walk, that sort of indignity will not be happening. Unless Ah am convalescing Ah have not used a chamber pot since Ah was a small child."

"Yeah, well, like I said, you don't need to be goin' down a double flight of stairs when you can hardly walk, so for tonight consider yourself 'convalescing', understand?" He looked calmly, but seriously back at Ezra, who didn't respond other than to give him a glare that was more of a pout than anything. If it didn't mean he was going to be having to keep his ears open to make sure Ezra didn't break his neck Nathan would have chuckled, but as it was, he just raised an eyebrow and stared back, waiting for Ezra to look away first. "Good. Now drink that water."

Watching patiently as he slowly downed the water, Nathan clearly heard the muttered, "Better than the usual medieval concoctions." Whether Ezra meant him to have heard it or not, that he wasn't sure of.

Probably.

"And it still took you that long to drink it. It's getting late, should probably try and get some shut-eye." He reached out and took the now empty glass from Ezra, setting it on the small table to the side, leaving the pitcher there in case his 'guest' got thirsty in the night. It wasn't even late for Nathan, let alone Ezra, but he was counting on the man to be too drunk to be sure of that. Not that it would mean he'd lay down without a fuss anyway. Nathan was sure he wouldn't have been nearly as cooperative about taking his boots off when he got him in the clinic if Josiah hadn't still been there then. The older man had left, chuckling, when after about the tenth time the preacher had called Ezra son he'd waspishly asked if there was something he should know about the older man's past romantic interludes, telling Nathan to have fun.

Ezra looked at him, looked around the clinic, and then asked, "Where will your own stay in the arms of Morpheus take place?"

Nathan blinked, then, once he'd realized what Ezra meant, smiled a little. He was surprised at Ezra asking, and part of him was wondering if the younger man had asked in an effort to escape back to his own room, but he'd still asked. "I'm gonna stretch out on my bedroll, just like if we were on the trail." The flash of guilt in Ezra's eyes surprised him further, but instead of protesting he nodded slowly, and shifted down so that he was laying flat. "Think ya can try and sleep on your side or your belly? Just in case."

Staring at him in badly hidden confusion, Ezra asked, "In case of what?"

"You get sick. Don't want you chokin'." The gambler looked slightly dubious, but did roll over onto his side, pulling the blankets up around his shoulders and shifting to get comfortable.

"That would certainly be a fah more serious turn of events than Ah had anticipated in conclusion of this evening."

Nathan patted the man's shoulder companionably, a gesture he sure hadn't thought he'd be making anytime soon this morning, before he rose to his feet, "Night, Ez."

"Pleasant dreams, Nathan." Taking the lamp with him, Nathan walked to the other side of the small room, not wanting to get stepped on if Ezra got up for some reason. He'd already set his bedroll over here while Josiah had been talking Ezra into taking off his second boot and promising he'd go get the jacket that had been forgotten in his hastily running out the back of the saloon with the gambler before disaster could ensue. Yawning as he sat the lamp down on the side of his desk, Nathan dimmed it, but didn't turn the light all the way down just yet. He hoped the preacher hadn't forgotten about that jacket, or they'd probably never hear the end of it. Grabbing one of his medical books and laying it next to the head of his roll, he knelt to unlace and pull his own boots off, setting them neatly under his desk chair so that they were out of the way. Not bothering with getting further undressed, not knowing whether Ezra was the type who would sleep like the dead or if he'd be up and down, he grabbed the lamp, moving it to the floor and close enough he wouldn't strain his eyes, and slid between the layers of his bedroll and got as comfortable as he could. Truth was, the ground was probably preferable to the hard and slightly uneven clinic floor, but at the same time he'd slept on a heck of a lot worse. Opening his book, Nathan settled in for a good read, one ear tuned to the southerner's breathing.

Hours later, long enough that it was pitch black inside and out, Nathan woke up without ever realizing he'd gone to sleep, the sound of retching filling his ears. Scrambling out of bed and not letting his groan out, Nathan grabbed for the lamp he didn't remember turning off, hoping he hadn't let all the oil burn up, as he called quietly, "Caught up to ya, huh? I'm comin'," to Ezra. The lamp lit with the first match, strong enough that Nathan figured he just didn't remember turning it off, and as he turned up the flame he was greeted with the sight of a profusely sweating Ezra, twisted around with his top half off the bed as he held onto the bucket that Nathan had left for him, balanced so his face was almost inside the damn thing. Hurrying over, Nathan did his best to be careful as he shifted Ezra back so that he wasn't about to go toppling over into his own sick, murmuring what he was doing and why as he did it, having a feeling that would reassure Ezra more than any platitudes. Filling up the water glass first, Nathan wet a cloth with the pitcher and laid it gently on the back of Ezra's bent neck, settling himself on the edge of the bed. There wasn't a whole lot else he could do, really, but wait for the puking to end and get him to drink some more water. Man would be more comfortable in a nightshirt or down to his drawers, but he'd fussed enough at the idea that both he and Josiah had decided it wasn't worth it earlier, and right now Ezra wasn't going to want to move anymore than he had too.

"Mistah Jackson? What are yah doing in mah bedroom?" Ezra turned his head just enough that Nathan figured he could maybe see him out of the corner of his eye, the words barely out before he was leaning over the bucket again, dry-heaving now. Nathan laughed despite himself, as he patted slowly at Ezra's shaking back.

"Way you talk about that feather bed of yours I wouldn't think you'd confuse it for this old bedstead."

"Oh." Seemingly finished for now, Ezra shifted back, blinking blearily at him as the events of last night seemed to be filtering back into his brain. Nathan could see the moment that the memory truly came back, Ezra paling and swallowing hard. "Oh...dear."

"One way to put it. I'd ask you to explain why you thought you had to keep it secret, but I figure you'll be gettin' enough of that from Josiah and Chris." Ezra gathered himself, Nathan sure he was thinking of something clever to say, when another wave of sickness hit him, and he was bent over the bucket again, whole body shuddering with the force of it, like he was about to bring his stomach itself up. You wouldn't have thought there was anything left, even bile, after the last bout, but Nathan grimaced as yellowish, acidy, slime plopped into the bucket. It was over half full, he'd have to go dump it in the privy soon and hope Ezra didn't get sick while it wasn't available. When he finished this time the younger man stayed half bent over off the side of the bed, panting heavily as he sucked in air. Nathan picked up the glass of water off the nightstand and pressed it into Ezra's hands, "Rinse first." With half a nod the gambler did, swishing the water through his mouth and spitting into the bucket several times in a row. He started trying to push himself up, teeth gritted, and Nathan moved to pull him back onto the bed, saying, "Hey now, lemme help," and rescuing the cup before the water could spill.

Ezra groaned slightly at the movement, his head probably bothering him as much as his stomach, but they got him straight in the bed, and with a little more fiddling Nathan had him half sitting up with the pillows propped behind him. It took a minute for his breathing to settle, clenching his eyes closed against the strain of moving, more sweat popping up on his forehead. Knowing Ezra wasn't likely to tolerate him sponging off his face when awake, he took another clean rag from the small stack he kept on the bedside table and dipped a corner of it in the water jug, squeezing out the excess and pressing it into Ezra's hand, "If ya clean the sweat off your face you'll feel better."

"Thank you." Their eyes met and they both paused for a second, Ezra not needing to say he was thanking him for more than just giving him a wet rag and Nathan not needing to hear it, not this time.

Of course, it was Ezra, so that didn't mean he was going to stop talking. "Ah apologize for the inconvenience mah actions last night have caused you, as Ah don't believe excessive drunkenness is usually something that you are prevailed upon to handle in your efforts as a healer."

Nathan nodded, though he couldn't keep a small frown from forming on his face as he answered, "Well, you're welcome, but I ain't as upset about the inconvenience as I am you pourin' booze down your throat like there's no tomorrow. There's better ways to handle things."

"It seemed an appropriate measure at the time, but after the rude awakening both of us have had Ah can acknowledge that Ah did not err on the side of wisdom." Ezra sounded about as miserable as he looked, which was very, and there was something in his voice that had Nathan recategorizing him from hungover to hungover and still feeling it. Nathan about figured he had to be, talking as unguarded as he was. He looked at Ezra a little harder, wondering if he'd ever actually understand the complicated man. Wondering why all of a sudden he wanted to.

"Nope, ya didn't. How's your head? Bad as your stomach?"

"It feels almost as though mah brain were trying to expel itself out of the various orifices on mah skull, but Ah don't find that complaint as hard to tolerate as literally expelling the contents of mah stomach."

"I'll make you up some willow-bark tea, that'll help." Ezra frowned, but before he could protest drinking the medicine, Nathan took the water glass from the table and thrust it into Ezra's hands, "First, drink this, slow sips, you hear? I'm gonna get the water heatin' on the stove for the tea, and then go dump that bucket." Making good on his word, and ignoring the muttering coming from Ezra, Nathan pushed himself to his feet and crossed to the small wood burning stove. He kept a bucket of water by it, brought up a fresh one every evening in case of a late night patient, and was glad he'd decided to get it done before he went over to the saloon last night. The stove was still warm, the fire not out entirely, and the addition of a few good sized chunks of wood and a stir of the coals got it going again, the small kettle filled and set on top to heat. Stretching as he straightened up, arms going first above his head and then out to the side, then to the small of his back to press as he cracked it, Nathan decided he needed to get a cot in here, something small that he could store until he needed it. This was far from the first or last time his bed was going to be taken overnight, and sleeping on the floor or in the chair was harder on him then it used to be. Turning around, Nathan frowned for a second as he saw that the water glass had been shoved back on the table and then softened as he noticed how carefully Ezra was breathing, how his eyes were squeezed shut, like he was doing his best not to be sick again. Walking back over he placed his hand on Ezra's forehead, not liking that he felt clammy and a bit cold, when he'd been sweating so profusely not more than ten minutes ago. Boy really had come close to poisoning himself, and Nathan didn't like it.

Didn't like that Ezra had chosen to drown himself in a bottle, but more than that he didn't like that his words had been part of what drove him there. Some of what he'd said in the church he still thought was justified-but some of it, some of it had been too far. That last sentence had been plenty too far.

"Mistah Jackson?" Ezra's eyes blinked open and looked up at him quizzically, face slightly tight, tense, with the pain Nathan knew he had to be feeling.

"I'm gonna go dump the bucket now, startin' not to smell too hot in here, do I need to get you somethin' else just in case?" Ezra started to nod and then abruptly stopped the motion, paling.

"Ah think that would be the prudent course of action." Hastily walking over to his shelves, Nathan grabbed a basin and quickly got it back to Ezra, who grabbed it like it was made of gold and positioned it underneath his head, tipped against his chest. Deciding that all he could do was hurry back, Nathan carefully picked up the bucket of sick, hiding his grimace as it sloshed slightly and made sure to walk steadily on his way to the door. The last thing he wanted to do was get any of this on the clinic floor.

Opening the door, Nathan froze as he saw the silhouette shifting from foot to foot at the top of the stairs, free hand automatically going to where his knife sheath would have been anytime but the middle of the night. He could think of no good reason for someone to wait outside, silently, sure hadn't come looking for healing...and then the shape of the figure's hat became clear, and Nathan sighed, glad he hadn't had his knives on him-not that he would have used one before making sure there was a threat, but still-and stepped forward through the door, pulling it shut behind him. "JD, what the heck do you think you're doing, standin' out here in the dark? It must be gone two in the mornin' by now-you ain't sick, are you?"

His eyes starting to adjust to the dark, Nathan saw when JD shook his head, "Nah, I'm fine, Nathan, just..." The teenager trailed off, shrugging, and then, just as Nathan opened his mouth to prompt him, he blurted out, "Is Ezra alright? I was in the saloon last night, and Josiah came in to get Ezra's jacket, and he said Ezra drank way too much whiskey and made himself really ill, and, and...it's because me and Buck were teasing him about that dress, isn't it? I didn't mean to hurt his feelings, not that bad!"

Softening, shaking his head, Nathan set down the bucket and stepped forward, settling a hand on each of the still twisting and shifting boy's shoulders, "Ezra is gonna be just fine, miserable as all get out for the next little while, but just fine." JD slumped a little in relief, but Nathan wasn't done, "And you didn't make him do anything. Maybe you shouldn't have been teasing him, but he still chose to drink a bottle of whiskey to himself. Besides," Nathan felt his own shoulders slump a little, and not in relief, "it wasn't you or Buck who hurt his feelings the worst yesterday, it was me. No point in taking on blame that ain't your own."

"What? When were you teasing him?" JD was looking at Nathan like he thought he might have hit his head, as though he couldn't imagine Nathan could be the guilty one, which didn't exactly make him feel any better. He hesitated, not sure he wanted JD to know what had happened if Buck hadn't already told him, and not sure Ezra would want him to know either, but decided he had to say something. The details though, those he'd keep between him and Ezra.

"Was too harsh about that thing he was pullin' with the ladies. Still don't like what he was doin', but..." Nathan shook his head, then smiled at JD, "It ain't on you, so don't worry about it." JD didn't look convinced.

"Me and Buck couldn'ta helped much though, just made him feel even worse." Well, Nathan couldn't really argue with that, and he could see that JD was going to feel guilty whatever he said.

"You know, there's not much ya can do but apologize in the morning-right now, though, Ezra needs to rest. You want to help out, you can dump the sick bucket out and bring it back up, but then you should get some shut-eye." The kid's eyes moved over to the door, clearly wanting to go inside, but instead of arguing he nodded.

"Yeah, sure I can dump it," Nathan picked it up and held it out, happy to get the stinking thing away from him, but JD didn't move to take it, just fidgeting back and forth as his eyes reluctantly dragged from the clinic door back to Nathan. "Maybe when I carry it back up I could talk to Ezra for a little bit?" Nathan's eyes narrowed a little in exasperation, because he'd just said Ezra needed to rest and he knew JD had heard him, but JD started talking again, voice just a little bit desperate as he pushed his words out faster than even his usual blur, "Please Nate, I swear, I'll only be a little minute, and if you think I'm taking too long you can just kick me out then! And, you said I should get some sleep, but I won't be able to if I don't talk to Ezra, and that'll be bad for my health, right?" At the end of his last sentence a small note of triumph crept into JD's words, like he thought he'd already won, and Nathan scowled at him for a second, annoyed at the very unsubtle manipulation, but then gave in, not because of JD's words as such, but because he had a feeling this conversation would get very long if he didn't.

"Fine." He could hear the tiredness in his own voice and suddenly had to stifle a yawn, "Just for a minute, after you dump the bucket and rinse it at the pump." And then, because the last thing they needed to deal with tomorrow was a cranky and overtired JD along with a hungover Ezra, Nathan added, "And you get your butt to bed after that, ya hear? It's too late to be roamin' around the town if you ain't on patrol."

JD beamed at him, relieved, though there was a bit of nervousness in it as he glanced again towards the door, "Thanks, Nathan!" Nathan frowned and motioned for JD to lower his voice, not wanting to wake his nearest neighbor and deal with that as well. "Sorry," the boy continued after a minute voice now lowered to something he probably thought was a whisper and was at least a lot quieter than his thanks had been, "I'll rinse it, and won't stay long, and then I'll go right back to the boarding house, I swear."

"And go to sleep?"

"Yeah, I promise!" JD's voice got loud again here and Nathan winced, but figured the best way to avoid waking anyone up was to get the kid moving.

"Here then," He held the bucket out to JD again, who took it this time, nose wrinkling as he turned to walk much slower and more carefully than usual down the stairs. With another shake of his head Nathan turned and went inside. How the heck anybody could have that much energy in the middle of the night he'd never know, even if a good portion of it was nervous.

*.*.*.*.*

Ezra wondered if somehow time had passed much faster than expected, leapt forward without his knowledge, when Nathan came back in and told him JD would be coming in to visit him in a minute. With his head thoroughly fuzzy and pounding and his stomach still swimming about the notion did not strike him as an at all enjoyable one, but by the time he'd worked up the energy to protest he could hear feet, he assumed JD's, pounding their way back up the stairs. Lovely. Not bothering to hide his small groan, Ezra slid slightly further down on his pillows and tightened his grip on the basin that as of the moment he had not befouled. Nathan seemed to understand, explaining, "Only for a minute. Kid's got it in his head that ya were real upset about him and Buck teasin' you, that's why you were drinkin' so much."

While, Ezra thought rather grouchily, having done his duty to their group in such an undignified manner, he would have appreciated perhaps some recognition of the fact, rather than to be made fun of in such an obnoxious way. But, owing to Mr. Dunne's age and Mr. Wilmington's similar mental maturity, Ezra would've had to have been a fool to be surprised at their behavior. The young man did not barge in when he reached the threshold, but instead knocked rather loudly on the door, hissing, "Nate, it's me! Can I come see Ez now?" Ezra tossed a rather desperate look at Nathan, who grimaced sympathetically.

"Just for a second, I promise," the healer muttered out of the side of his mouth as he crossed to the door, saying a little louder as he started opening it, "JD, I told you to calm yourself down, start doin' it. Ezra's tired, you know that."

JD's response, an earnest, "Sorry, Nathan," was clearly meant to be a whisper, but Ezra did not believe it qualified. The boy didn't wait for any further instructions, going around the older man and grabbing the chair tucked down by the end of the bed, plopping it and himself down by Ezra's head. "Gee, Ezra, I'm real sorry about teasing you. I mean, I thought it was funny that you had to wear a dress," Ezra heard a faint groan of exasperation from Nathan, his own eyes narrowing into a glare that JD didn't seem to notice, "but I thought it was real nice that you did it to help Mary and teach Wickes a lesson and all. Betcha you're the only one who would've too, Buck sure wouldn't and nobody woulda believed he was a lady anyway, not in a million years."

Well. That was more like it. Rather mollified, even if JD's words did nothing for his rolling stomach or pounding head, Ezra shot a weak smile at the younger boy and prepared himself to engage in a few minutes of conversation.


End file.
